Echoes
by Miss Jazz
Summary: Too much angst in Vegas leads to panic for Sara. GSR. Alternate Season 9. It's back.
1. Different

**Echoes**

by Miss Jazz

Category: drama/angst

Summary: She was still searching, but she was home. GSR. Based on Season 9 spoilers.

Disclaimer: I still don't own anything. It all belongs to CBS.

Author's Note: I wasn't planning to write any more CSI stories, but I seem to be doing it anyway with hope that there is still interest out there. I guess I'm now becoming hopeful for more GSR in season 9. Thanks for reading!

* * *

She stood at the door, her brown hair longer and curlier than he had ever seen it. One glimpse, lasting only seconds, and he knew she was very different. But then again, so was he.

"Thank-you for calling me," she said, without moving, without emotion. She was as still as a rock, and he was starting to wonder if she was a dream.

"Are you here?" he whispered, voice hoarse.

Her suitcase dropped with a thump on the floor and with the smallest of movements, she flicked on the light. "Yeah...I'm here."

He stared at her blankly, the light helping him to confirm his hypothesis: she was different. Longer, curlier hair was only the start–her cheeks and lips were accented with make-up, she wore a dress, and she'd gained enough weight to look healthier than she'd looked in all the time she'd known him.

Different.

She nodded to him, curls bouncing on her shoulder, the only movement in the room. "I'm glad you called me. I mean, uh, _thank-you_...for calling me."

Still staring, he nodded back. For a second, he felt self-conscious, lying in his shorts in the bed they used to share. He was tangled in his sheets, sweating, pale. He hadn't planned on seeing her until later that day. Her key to the condo hadn't even entered his thoughts.

She sensed his uneasiness and shifted in the doorway, one hand reaching up to tuck her hair behind her ears. "Um, look, I'm early, I know...I'll go..."

He tensed at the thought. "No," he said quickly. "I'll jump in the shower. I'll only be a few minutes."

She picked up her suitcase and turned to leave the room. "Yeah. Okay. No problem."

She was sitting with their very content dog when he appeared in the kitchen five minutes later. She seemed surprised at his khaki shorts and sports t-shirt but said nothing.

Different, he reminded himself almost sadly. No time, no motivation, no one else in the condo. That, and his suit was still at the dry cleaners. He would have to leave time to pick it up and change.

Time. The dog seemed to have no sense of it. He was acting like she'd never left at all, lounging on the floor at her feet.

"He's happy to see you," he said quietly, his hands shaking as he took two glasses from the cupboard.

"Yes. I'm happy to see him too."

"Can I get you a drink?"

"Water would be great. Thanks."

He poured, passed her a glass, hesitated, and then sat next to her at the table.

"I wanted to come and tell you in person," he said softly, slowly meeting her gaze.

"So did I," she replied, brown eyes locking on his.

He pursed his lips, searching for the right words for such a complicated reunion. Coming up short, he offered a feeble: "I know."

She dropped her gaze. "It hasn't been long. I was going to come as soon as I could. I just had to sort some things out first."

That was why she left in the first place, wasn't it? He shook his head. How long would it take for her to find what she was looking for? He had already learned that he couldn't help her find it. And that lesson had hurt.

He pushed the memory away. This wasn't the time. There was too much else to deal with.

"I'm sorry it had to be like this," he whispered, slowly reaching for her hand. It was all he could do; the only thing that felt safe.

"Don't be sorry. There's nothing you could have done," she whispered back. His fingers squeezed her's.

He sighed. "We just...ran out of miracles."

Slowly, she guided his hand to her stomach, placing it palm down, resting her hand on top. "No, we didn't."

He smiled briefly, feeling, searching, and finding nothing.

"You can't always feel it," she told him. "If you wait long enough, you will."

He looked at her with questions in his eyes–just like the old days. "How long?"

She knew what he meant. She hadn't lost her ability to read him like a book. "I don't know," she sighed, pain in her voice, emotion finally flooding her brown eyes. Before he could do anything, a tear slipped from her left eye. "I'm sorry it had to be like this too," she confessed, still holding his hand to her stomach. "I didn't want it to be like this."

He didn't doubt her. She was different today, but he still knew her. "I know. I know..."

"Grissom...believe me...please."

"I do, honey." He reached up to stroke her hair, but at the sound of her breaking, he re-routed, throwing both of his arms around her. She thrust her arms around him just as quickly, clinging to him for dear life as the dam broke."I should have been here," she sobbed into his shoulder, his neck, his chest. "God, Griss, this isn't right. Not him."

He'd been through this already: the disbelief, the fear, the anger. He'd expressed as little of it during their phone call as possible, saving it all for himself and his dark, lonely bedroom. He'd sat on the bed for hours and hours, trying to convince himself that everything would be okay. His world was falling apart around him.

But she had come to him. She was here, pressed against him, their baby growing inside her. She was real. And she was breaking. Again.

Some things may never change, he noted sadly. She looked different today, but she was Sara.

And she was home.

TBC.


	2. Battles

She hadn't expected to pick up where she left off; in fact, she'd prepared herself for a battle. But nothing could have prepared her for this kind of change. Everything was different. Grissom was different. _She_ was different. She couldn't even pretend to be the same anymore.

"Grissom, it hurts," she admitted one evening, as they sipped tea on the couch, the dog at their feet, hundreds of unspoken thoughts on their tongues. The words hung in the air, as everything did these days.

He didn't have to ask for clarification; he just nodded and squeezed her free hand. He knew. It was hurting him too, taking over every part of his body and mind. That week he'd been strong for Sara and the team, but he had saved none for himself. Inside, there was just nothing left.

Sara felt the emptiness. Their bed was cold. The condo was always dark. She spent most nights alone and most days watching out for Nick, the only one still pretending to be okay.

"Nicky, I need you to talk about it with me," Sara would request softly, hoping to reach him.

"Hot case, Sar. Let's talk tomorrow? I know we need to, just...I'm busy now, okay?" He'd take off with a pained smile on his face and call her later to tell her just how "okay" he was and how much he wanted to be there for _her._ Tomorrow.

She waited for his call in the dark as Grissom puttered quietly around the kitchen, getting ready to head to the lab. It was his last shift. What was left of his team would have cake for him in the break room that night because everything had changed.

"He hasn't called," Sara whispered, as Grissom slowly pulled her into his arms to say goodbye. She rested her head against his chest and he kissed the top of her head, comforting her momentarily. They'd learned to hold on to those fleeting moments as long and as tightly as they could.

Grissom's voice was hoarse, uncertain. "He's probably on his way to the lab," he replied, sadness etched in his tone. "He'll call when he gets there."

She looked up at him in the dark hallway, searching his blue eyes and finding fear in their depths. "He's gone, you know," she whispered, knowing that she didn't need to remind him that she was referring to Nick and not Warrick.

He placed a cold hand on her cheek and nodded. "I'll see you in the morning."

* * *

He would see her only an hour later, as she bustled into Nick's apartment on trembling legs. Grissom tried to reassure her with his eyes but he was focussed on pressing a dishtowel to Nick's arm. She knelt down next to the couch and grasped her friend's other hand.

Fallen. Broken.

_Gone._

Nick lay on the couch, semi-conscious, his cell phone still beeping on the floor next to him. He'd called Grissom for help. And Grissom had called her. And she had called upon the last ounces of faith in her soul. So far, it had been enough to get her to the apartment.

He'd smashed the window because everything else was already broken. At least, that was how he explained it as his blood soaked through the heavy cloth, leaving him even more lifeless than he'd been. Sara frantically retrieved another towel while Grissom yelled at Nick, demanding that he stay awake in this cold reality that all of them wanted to escape. Nick would just have to suffer with the rest of them.

He lost blood so quickly; Sara could have sworn he was willing it to happen. It shouldn't have been pumping out so fast, so unforgivingly. Grissom muttered about an artery, and she knew the logic of it, but it seemed so surreal. Nick wanted to give up.

"_Not your day..."_

The words echoed in her head, scenes of the past played out before her eyes, her heart beat wildly in her chest, and her hand went protectively to her stomach.

_It shouldn't be like this._

She should be happy. The world should be _full_ of hope and happiness now. They had a miracle on the way.

But the icy feeling in her spine spread furiously as she stared into Nick's half-open eyes and realized that the darkness of these days, the loss of the past, and the pain overtaking them all would win the war. They would have no energy, no time, no weapons left to fight the next battle. They were crumbling, falling like cities in the epic battles of history. Only no one would write about them.

A sharp cry escaped her lips just as Nick's eyes closed, his dark lashes resting against pale, tear-stained cheeks.

"Nick! Open your eyes!" Grissom ground his fist into the fallen man's chest. "Nick! This is not an option!"

His words were firm, strong, but Sara knew the fear behind them all too well. She also knew that he wouldn't give up. She couldn't say the same for Nick or for herself. Too much damage. Too much to repair. One hand stayed on her stomach and another went to Grissom's shoulder, searching for another anchor in the choppy waters.

Nick's eyelids fluttered once.

Hope didn't even cross her mind.

* * *

"What now?" she asked him the next morning, as they trudged through the door of the dark condo, with some relief to help them through the day. Nick was stable, but the world wasn't.

He guided her towards the couch, silently asking her to sit and stay. The dog was already modelling the requested behaviour.

"Now we wait it out," he replied, as he sat down next to her, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He stared at her, eyes begging her to keep fighting the battle.

She hesitated before softly revealing, "I'm not sure I can."

He didn't hesitate. "I love you." A quick, frightened breath. "I love you and I need you. I need you to make it through this. I need you here with me."

She would ask him for the same things when the opportunity presented itself. For now, she was focussed entirely on steadying her shaking body. Grissom wrapped protective arms around her in an effort to help, but she was still cold and more afraid than she'd been in her entire life.

"I feel...like I'm killing the baby," she said through gasps for air. "It shouldn't be like this!"

He had no words to offer, just a gentle hand on her cheek.

"This baby should feel warm and safe, but I'm cold and I'm scared. How can a baby live through this kind of stress? How can I come back and pick up where I left off when there's nothing left to pick up?"

He couldn't tell her because he was looking for the same answers. It was so dark, and he had only one source of light to offer.

"I love you," he told her again. "That's something you will always have."

TBC


	3. Panic

Nick stayed with them for a few weeks, bringing some life back into the condo. It was unexpected; Sara had been almost certain that Nick would refuse to deal with everything that had happened. Yet even as he stepped through the doorway, suitcase in his good hand, the weight on all of their shoulders seemed a bit lighter. His expression was different. His tone of voice suggested a page had turned. He was ready to talk.

Sara would listen to Nick while Grissom watched them both carefully. He would pretend to occupy himself with other things: the dishes, sweeping the kitchen floor, cleaning out the refrigerator. But one eye was always watching, cataloguing every movement. And his ears were always tuned to hear every cleared throat, every hitch in their breathing. He refused to let them slip through his fingers.

The rest of Sara's belongings arrived in plastic crates, delivered to his doorstep on a Wednesday afternoon. Nick signed for them while Sara shopped for groceries and Grissom finished up paperwork at the lab. He brought them inside and hoped that Sara would be able to breathe now, that Vegas wouldn't plague her the way it had for so long.

They needed her to be able to breathe.

But she was crying at night, after long days of watching Grissom overwork himself in a desperate attempt to protect them all. They would get under the covers and he would hold her tightly in his arms, softly brushing the hair back from her forehead. Grissom would tell her that it was all going to be okay, that it _had _to be.

She cried for him because she knew that he was so afraid that he'd be wrong.

She cried for Nick because he had to start over. Again.

She cried for the baby because she was bringing it into a world that didn't make sense.

When she was asleep, or at least somewhat comfortable, Grissom would leave for work. He'd check on Nick in the guest room, set the coffee timer for Sara, lock the door, and then check it several times. He would drive to work on barely any sleep and then work through the night with Catherine, Greg, and Brass at his side. The night was always quiet. Even when they were busy.

Sara would call first thing in the morning. Grissom was always ready. He would work all night with her call in mind: a light in the darkness; it always came with the rising sun.

One morning, it was Nick who called.

"Griss–you have to come–Sar–" His voice rang out, breathless, fearful. "Grissom. Now."

Grissom left the lab with no explanation. He just ran to his truck, hopped inside, and drove at a speed that matched the pounding of his heart. He took the shortest route he could think of, but it seemed to take hours. It also seemed to take no time at all. A contradiction he didn't have time to explore.

He knew Sara would be on the couch, just like Nick, before he flew through the door. He knew somehow that it would be similar and yet entirely different. The scene was the same but different. The fear was the same but different. The guilt was the same but different.

_It's Sara._

He'd tried so hard to keep her safe–to keep them _all_ safe–and he was there again, in a situation that he had only minutes to fix.

Fix this. He closed his eyes for a second. Fix it now.

Minutes.

Seconds.

Sara under a car. Warrick in his arms. Nick bleeding out. Sara....

No air. No breath.

He opened his eyes and fell to his knees, the pain sending him back where he needed to be.

No air.

Sara couldn't breathe.

Fix this.

He reached for her hand and squeezed, hoping that she'd feel the connection and come back to him and that it would all be that simple. He squeezed again and again, and whispered words that held a sense of calm that he couldn't believe he had in him. When that didn't help, he sat on the edge of the couch and gently pulled her into his arms, holding her from behind.

"I'm here, honey. I'm here," he said into her ear, running a soft hand over the top of her head, stroking the hair back from her sweaty forehead. "Breathe, Sara. Slow it down. I'm here."

She turned her head, pressing her cheek into his chest, as if trying to hide. "Can't...Griss..."

"Come on, Sara. Yes, you can," he said firmly. "We're going to do this together."

She shook her head frantically but he held her still, an anchor, steady in the storm. He whispered to her, helping her to breathe in and out in time with him.

Slow.

Deep.

Nick slowly crouched down next to them, cell phone in hand, and nodded to Grissom. An ambulance was on the way. A small relief.

There was no evidence of relief in Nick's eyes.

Grissom continued to stroke Sara's hair, his hand lingering on her wet cheek, his chin resting softly on the top of her hair. He took slow, deep breaths, and Sara was doing her best to follow, slowly calming her breathing. Her hands now rested on her stomach protectively and her eyelids were heavy from exhaustion. Sweat glistened on her skin. Tears trailed down her cheeks. She looked as if she'd just come in out of the rain.

"She was in pain?" Grissom whispered to Nick. Even his whisper had a sad tone.

Nick nodded again. "All of a sudden. She was in the kitchen when she doubled over. I helped her to the couch and she started to panic. She just...panicked."

Grissom looked down at Sara. Tears were spilling down her cheeks at a steady rate, her hands were shaking, her body trembled slightly in his careful embrace. Her eyelids fluttered.

"It's okay, honey. I've got you," he said, pressing her head to his chest. "Everything will be fine."

She looked up at him then, for just a moment, her green eyes full of fear. "I tried," she said, in a strained, pain-filled whisper. "I tried to believe that."

"It will be," he insisted, again so firmly that he surprised himself.

Nick and Sara both looked at him then, helpless, lost. Two people who had been through so much. One with ghosts of the past his eyes and white knuckles around his cell phone, and the other so physically and mentally exhausted that she could now barely hold her head up on her own.

How was he supposed to make this better?

How had he let them down again?

"I'll make sure you're okay," he said to both of them, a quiet promise, as he carefully braced Sara's head against his chest. She moaned a little, her eyes closed, her hand pressing against her stomach. "Sara? Sara, talk to me. More pain?"

She didn't answer.

TBC

Author's Note: Thanks for all the reviews for this story. It's been awhile, so I'm hoping you'll stick with me!


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